“And don’t touch yourself. I need to make a phone call.” Letting her go, I reach for my phone. It’s been vibrating in my pocket the whole ride home.

“Fuck,” I mumble, seeing six missed calls from Rachel…and no texts.

“What?” Raven looks back at me.

“Nothing.” I push on Rachel’s number, admiring Raven’s ass as she moves toward the stairs. A loud ringing of a phone makes us both freeze and look around.

“Mom?” Raven screams first, grabbing ahold of the stairwell as Rachel slithers out of the corner holding a martini in nothing but a black slip.

“Christ.” I press end on the call, stopping the annoying ring.

“Yes, Mommy is home,” she snaps at her, then hisses as she passes. Literally, her red nails form a claw at Raven, like a cat ready to scratch.

“Oh my God.” Raven stares somewhat in horror, somewhat in humor at her mother.

I’ve seen Rachel like this many times. She has a three-drink maximum. After that, she gets mean and belligerent, then passes out. She never mentions it in the morning, and to be honest, I don’t care. She’s probably an alcoholic, but she’s a functioning one, so as long as she doesn’t embarrass me around important people, I couldn’t care less if she medicates herself with cocktails and pills.

Still, I am not about to tolerate her lashing out at Raven.

“Surprise.” She continues toward me, holding up her arms, the martini spilling on the floor. “Where the fuck have you two been?”

I toss the key fob on the foyer table and reach out to steady her before she slips on the drink.

“Dinner,” I state, wrinkling my nose at her scent. Jesus, she’s had way more than three. She smells like a bar…and a funeral with her overpowering, flowery scent.

“Dinner?” She swings her head to stare at Raven.

“Yes. We’re people. We have to eat,” I say dryly as I walk her up the stairs. She stumbles, then giggles.

I clench my jaw, aggravated that she’s home and a fucking train wreck. Her mascara is smudged under both eyes. Her ballooned-up lips are covered with smeared red lipstick, making her resemble a female Joker.

“I tried to get ahold of Erin.” She hiccups.

“Not now, Rachel,” I say, propelling her up the stairs.

“She didn’t answer. And don’t worry.” She takes a sip from the empty martini glass. “I didn’t leave a message, but on Monday I’ll see if she’s free next weekend to fuck us both again.” She waves the glass, then sets it on my Chippendale buffet while I open our door.

“Let’s talk about it in the morning.” When I let go of her arm, she tries to walk in without weaving.

“Thirty minutes,” I instruct Raven, not bothering to explain more as I shut the door.